


Which Side Are You On?

by Luka



Series: Firestorm [5]
Category: Primeval
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 07:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19079986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luka/pseuds/Luka
Summary: Stephen and Ryan are building their business up – but Lyle's got something on his mind.





	Which Side Are You On?

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fifth story in the Firestorm series, which follows directly on from the Iceman sequence. Thanks to Fredbassett for the loan of the Special Forces characters. The fitness centre team and any other OCs are mine.

Stephen pushed his face mask off and swigged from a bottle of water. Next to him, Nicky Burns, one of the fitness instructors, did the same.

"How long since you last fenced?" asked Nicky, mopping his face with a towel.

Stephen shrugged. "Three, four years …"

"Fuck."

"Fuck good or fuck bad?"

"Fuck, if you're this good rusty …"

Stephen shrugged again. "I won a few trophies some years back."

Nicky took his mask right off and scrubbed his fingers through his short blond hair. "You know the fencing club's looking for somewhere to practice, seeing as we're being turfed out of these luxurious surroundings." He gestured to the cold and tatty church hall where that night's training was taking place.

"Yes …" Stephen thought he knew where the conversation was going. "So you want to train at the gym?"

"You reckon it'd be possible?"

"Don't see why not. We'd have to work it round the boxing and the gymnastics clubs. How many nights do you meet?"

"Two. Tuesday for the beginners and intermediates and Thursday for the rest. You'd come, wouldn't you?"

"I … Dunno."

"Stephen, you're bloody good and it'd be a waste not to. There are loads of competitions coming up. And you’re not too old to aim at competing at international level. You’re in fabulous shape …"

Stephen had to admit he was tempted. He'd discovered only the other day that Nicky was a good fencer, and he'd found himself agreeing to come along to one of the training sessions. It had felt good to get back into it again. He'd done well in his teens and early 20s, and won a lot of trophies. But then he'd gone abroad, signed up for a PhD, got tangled up with the anomalies project and something had had to give.

"Tuesdays and Thursdays should work."

"Great! Can you ride?"

"What, horses?"

"Yes."

"A bit. Why?"

"Some of us are going over to Bath Uni in a fortnight to try out modern pentathlon. Considering you run and fence, and I heard a rumour you had Olympic trials for shooting, and I assume you can swim …"

"Yeah. Sounds fun." And it did. "Look, we'll see about the booking tomorrow. And thanks, I'd like to get involved again."

~*~*~*

"Fuck me, it's Brian Blessed!" Stephen turned the car engine off and did a double-take at the bloke waiting for them by the door of the remote Welsh hostel.

Ryan burst out laughing. "As it happens, Brad has been to the top of Everest, but I think you'll find that's where the resemblance ends. And I know he looks like one of those gun crazies from middle America, but he's fine, honest."

They got out of the car and stood for a moment taking in the stunning view and enjoying the silence. The large guy, dressed from head to toe in military garb, strode over to join them.

"Ryan."

"Brad. Good to see you."

"And you. Stephen?"

"Nice to meet you." Stephen stuck out a hand and tried not to wince at the bone-crushing shake it elicited. For once he suspected that this wasn't macho willy-waving and that Brad routinely greeted everyone like this.

"You want to see around?"

"Please," said Ryan.

"OK."

The hostel was on two levels, with dormitories and bathrooms on the ground floor and a kitchen and dining area upstairs. It slept about 20 people and was perched on a plateau way out in the Brecon Beacons, five or six miles from the nearest village.

"So what about these courses," said Brad, dumping mugs of strong tea in front of them.

"We've got the contract to deliver adventure courses to schools in Bristol. And it looks like Gloucestershire and Wiltshire are interested as well. They'd run Monday to Thursday or Friday. We'd want to block-book the hostel for one or two weeks a month in the first instance, and then see how we go. And we were hoping you'd want to get involved."

Brad nodded. "Sounds good."

"I'll get the solicitor to send you all the paperwork."

"OK."

"Gawd, he really doesn't do small talk, does he?" said Stephen as he navigated the car down the narrow track that led to the hostel.

"Nope. But he's an A1 guy. He was awarded the Victoria Cross."

"Bloody hell!"

"Yep. He pulled two blokes out of a burning tank, then drove them to safety in a jeep through Iraqi fire."

"Fuck …"

"He never talks about it, though. He bought this place and did the hermit act with it. We're lucky he's agreed to get involved with us."

"How come?"

"He knew my dad," said Ryan shortly. And Stephen knew not to ask any more questions.

~*~*~*

"Fucking arseholes," said Ditzy. "It was a fucking ambush. How we never twigged …"

Ryan shrugged and drank some of his tea. Ditzy was holed up at home and bored out of his mind. A seemingly clean wound had turned into an infection, which had been nasty for three or four days. Ryan thought it highly ironic that he'd escaped hospital super-bugs after half a dozen marathon operations while the unit medic had been knocked flat.

The house looked like the Mess on a bad night, with soldiers and their hob-nailed boots everywhere, all cussing and telling blue jokes. Ditzy was lying on the sofa presiding over the gathering. Claire had apparently gone to spend a few days in York with her sister, and Ryan didn't blame her. Ditzy, like all medics, was a lousy patient. 

"When are they letting you back?"

"A fortnight, if that wanker Greene gives me the OK. Fucking idiot should stick his stethoscope up his arse."

"How's Finn doing?"

"He's fine. But that bloody woman of his is giving him grief not to sign up again."

"What does he want to do?"

Ditzy shrugged. "I don't think he knows himself. He took it hard after you …" He stopped abruptly and heaved a cushion at Blade's head for no apparent reason. "Mind you, I'm having second thoughts …"

Ryan raised his eyebrows. "Yeah?"

"Yep."

"What would you do?"

"Paramedic," said Ditzy briefly. "Kermit, make some more fucking tea and stop scratching your bits!"

~*~*~*

"Is he serious?" Stephen ran backwards for 100 metres or so, watching Ryan's face.

"Dunno. I'm assuming he is, on the grounds that he even mentioned it."

"Was Lyle there?"

"Nope."

"Any word from him?"

"Not for a fortnight."

"Shit." Stephen started to lengthen his stride again.

"Yep."

"Are you …?"

"Dunno. I'll see if he rings in the next few days. Now, I reckon this would be the best place to do the fitness sessions. What d'you think?"

"Um, yeah, looks fine …" Stephen picked up the 'back off' signals immediately. Ryan was usually pretty open with him, so he didn't like the vibes he was getting.

Ryan continued jogging on the spot and surveying the sheltered part of the Downs. "There's plenty of parking, and we can meet by the seat to get people booked in."

"Have you decided how many you want to have?"

"Ten to 15 if it's just me. Twenty to 30 if you're going to do it with me."

"Of course I am! Unless you … I mean, Craig could …"

"Be good if we did it together," said Ryan firmly.

"But I wasn't in the army …"

"No, but you've got military-level fitness."

Stephen stared at him. "You're joking."

"Nope. You'd leave most serving soldiers standing."

"I …" Stephen didn't know what to say.

Ryan said gently: "Stephen, you're in amazing shape. I know you've always been fit, but just think of your daily routine now. You've got a beautiful body and you should be proud of it."

"I … I am." Stephen was embarrassed. He'd never thought much about his body. He'd always exercised and eaten sensibly, and known he was in pretty good shape, but he'd never considered its attractiveness or otherwise. It would never rival Ryan's which, aside from the scars and a very slight limp, was almost back to how it had been before the attack. 

It had seemed second nature to use the gym every morning. Before, he'd claimed that that sort of exercise was tedious and that he much preferred running, but now he loved his routine on all the equipment. Craig was always there at the same time, so it was a chance to chat and to watch Sky News and Sport on the giant TV screen in one corner.

Ryan smiled at him, and Stephen managed to smile back. "OK, I'll start contacting everyone who expressed an interest and see how many takers we get. We'll do 10am – noon on Saturdays, shall we?"

Stephen nodded. "Fine."

"Good. Right, race you back!"

~*~*~*

Ryan let his fingers drift over the soft cotton shirt. He generally ranked clothes shopping on the same level as going to the dentist, but he'd been hauling up Park Street when he saw the item in a shop window. And he knew soon as he saw it that it would be perfect for Stephen. 

If left to himself, Stephen still favoured baggy shirts and jeans. If he'd noticed that Ryan was buying him things that clung to his body, he hadn't said anything. In fact, Ryan suspected he still felt awkward about being bought presents all the time – rarely a week went by where Ryan didn't buy him a new CD or a book, or clothes. 

Now, though, Stephen had the money to buy Ryan things in return. It was often meals out at nice restaurants, or weekends away in comfortable hotels. They'd been to York a couple of weeks back, but Ryan wished they could get away more often. Now Luci was doing the day-to-day managing of the gym, with Craig as her deputy, he needed to get on and organise a holiday for him and Stephen. Stephen was still looking tired, and Ryan wanted them to go somewhere warm for a couple of weeks before the adventure courses really got going.

~*~*~*

Ryan handed Stephen the email print-out and watched the amazement on his face.

"Tom … California … This is amazing, but you should have said first … I'm not sure I can afford to pay my share in one go. Is it OK if I pay you in instalments?"

"We can afford it, though. Stephen, get used to the fact that we do these things together now."

"But that's off your account."

Stephen had insisted they kept separate accounts as well as a joint one for the house and business, and Ryan had decided at the time not to argue. "Yeah, but you seem to have forgotten you paid for the Steppes trip."

"That was your Christmas present."

"And this is my present to you because I love you and want to take you somewhere nice so that you can relax and rest."

Stephen turned away and walked over to the window, resting his forehead against the glass. And Ryan knew that if he let those defences go up, there'd be no way he could ever break them down. So he began to massage the tense shoulders, trying to ignore the faint recoil from his touch.

He said quietly: "Please, Stephen, I can't bear it when you put those walls up so I can't touch you."

"I … I don't mean to …"

"I know, and I understand why you do it. But I want you to remember that you have me now …"

"I know … I'm not used to people caring about me."

Ryan had already gathered that. And he'd begun to realise just how lonely Stephen had been over the years. 

Stephen turned round and touched Ryan's cheek briefly. "You deserve a medal for putting up with all this shit day in, day out. Anyone else would have given up on me long ago."

Ryan kissed his forehead and was relieved when Stephen let him wrap his arms around him. "You should know by now that I'm not going anywhere."

After a moment or two Stephen's arms encircled Ryan's waist and he rested his head briefly on his shoulder. "I know. Thank you …"

~*~*~*

_r u ignoring me?_

The IM from Abby popped up on Stephen's screen as soon as he logged on to check his email.

_of course not, i'm just busy, r u ok?_

_yeah, suppose so_

_wot's going on?_

_usual shit. and connor's got a girlfriend_

_what???????????_

_don't be so horrible!_

_i'm not! tell me more_

_her name's caroline and she's a bitch_

_now who's being horrible?_

_i don't trust her_

_why not?_

_dunno just don't_

_where did they meet?_

_in the video shop but she's not a geek, no way_

_maybe it won't last_

_i dunno. and she laughs at all his jokes_

_must be love_

_not funny_

_sorry_

_it's ok. i'm just pissed off. cutter still going bonkers. And claudia's replacement is this bossy cow called jenny with too much make-up and there's this creep called leek who's been seconded to the project. looks like the kind of guy who goes 2 the toilets 2 wank after he's spoken 2 a woman_

_sounds a real charmer_

_yeah. how u doing?_

_fine thanks. we're going on holiday next week_

_where u going?_

_california_

_cool!_

_yeah, looking forward 2 it_

_have a great time!_

_ta!_

_fone when u get back_

_will do. and hang in there._

Stephen closed the message window before Abby could reply. He felt faintly guilty, but he really didn't want to hear about the ARC project. He wished she'd see sense and get out of there before it all went tits-up.

~*~*~*

Their hotel overlooked a secluded beach in mid-California about halfway between Los Angeles and San Francisco. On the first night they held hands as they sat on the rocks and watched the sun sink to meet the sea. For the rest of the three weeks they sun-bathed, walked for miles and ate well in the excellent restaurants in the nearby small town. They saw the butterfly trees and the sea lions basking on the beaches and were certain they'd caught a glimpse of the zebras grazing on the hillside near Hearst Castle. 

One of the high spots was the visit to the aquarium in Monterey and dinner in the restaurant there overlooking the bay. When they got back to the hotel that evening they spent an hour or so in the hotel's outdoor hot tub. They were the only people in it, so they sat with their arms around each other laughing and chatting. When they got back to their room, Ryan realised he was hard. Properly hard.

Stephen leaned over and kissed the tip of Ryan's cock. "You know where I want that."

Ryan nodded, shivering as Stephen traced his forefinger up and down his prick. God, he looked so fucking beautiful with his sun-bleached hair, dark eyebrows and light sprinkling of freckles across his nose.

"D'you want me on my back or my hands and knees?"

Ryan loved it when he could see his cock disappearing into Stephen's arse. But this time there was only one choice. "I want to watch you …"

Ryan lay on his back and Stephen climbed astride him, hand slicking lube generously down his prick, then guiding it inside him. He sank down gradually, eyes never leaving Ryan. Ryan watched, dry-mouthed, as the tension in Stephen's body relaxed as his tight passage opened up and allowed the big cock in.

"Tom … Hold my hands, please … Don't touch me … I want to come on your cock …"

Ryan obeyed and watched as Stephen increased the pace, rising and falling, his head thrown back. And he looked so fucking amazing, his gorgeous, bronzed body shining lightly with sweat. Ryan wanted to touch him everywhere, but instead he clung onto those long fingers. Then Stephen's cock seemed to twitch twice and he came, spraying both their chests. His hot, tight channel clenched around Ryan, and pulled him over the edge.

Stephen slumped forward, his face buried in the junction of Ryan's shoulder.

"OK?" Ryan stroked the length of Stephen's spine, fingers pausing only to rub the wetness into his arse.

"Just about …" 

There was a light nip at the base of Ryan's throat, not enough to break the skin, but sharp enough to make him twitch. "Oi, what was that for?"

The laugh ghosted across his skin. "Just to remind you that you're mine and we're complete again."

Those words meant more to Ryan than he could ever articulate. He kissed the top of Stephen's head and whispered: "I know. Come here …" And he pulled Stephen close to him so they could fall asleep with their bodies entwined.

~*~*~*

“Stephen does wonders for your marketing.”

Ryan turned round and accepted a mug of tea from Luci, who'd joined him watching one of Stephen's fitness sessions. “How come?”

“Bees to a honeypot when he’s wandering round in shorts and a teeshirt and sporting a suntan like that one. Every straight woman and gay bloke in the place is sticking pins in your effigy. He even makes me think about turning!”

Ryan burst out laughing. “I’ll dob you in to Rachel.” Luci's partner was the solicitor who'd helped them out with some of the legal stuff.

“Don’t bother, she said the same the other day!”

Luci was an ex-cop, who’d got fed-up with the casual sexism and homophobia she encountered every day. So she’d left and qualified as a fitness instructor. She was brisk, efficient and had a very off-beat sense of humour. She and Ryan had hit it off from day one. He knew Stephen had taken longer to warm to her, mainly because her sense of humour confused him. 

"You're looking good as well …" said Luci quietly.

"Yeah, not doing so bad." It felt good to be back to a strict fitness routine again, although he reckoned he was only back to 75 per cent of his former fitness. Ryan suspected he wouldn't get much past that, which irritated him more than he could ever admit. The quacks all told him he'd made an incredible recovery. The only signs were a very slight limp and the fact his body ached when it was cold. Even most of the scars had gone, courtesy of the skin grafts and plastic surgery.

"You're still fitter than almost everyone in this gym …"

Ryan shrugged. He didn't want to say that that wasn't much consolation.

"D'you miss the army?"

He hesitated, then shrugged again. Very few people asked him about his previous life. Luci, though, was perennially nosy. "Yeah, sometimes. But it's a novelty not being shot at or spending the night freezing your bollocks off on the Brecon Beacons."

"Some people pay handsomely for that sort of perversion …"

Ryan rolled his eyes, and Luci grinned at him cheekily. He'd bet anything she'd been an expert interrogator.

"D'you see much of your army mates?"

"Yeah." Ryan was actually surprised that they'd all kept in touch so well. Most of that was down to email, but there'd been a few get-togethers. Ditzy liked organising piss-ups with the gang around him. The six of them – Ryan, Lyle, Ditzy, Blade, Finn and Kermit – together with Stephen were going down to Cornwall at the weekend.

"Luci, can you come and sign these letters for me, please." Karen, the admin wizard, appeared in the doorway.

Stephen caught Ryan's eye and grinned, and Ryan smiled back. And he realised how lucky he was, getting his health back and finding a new career that he enjoyed. Luckiest of all, though, was having Stephen, who'd stood by him and loved him and kept him going when things looked hopeless.

Ryan sometimes thought that Stephen was even more handsome than when they'd first met, having grown into his incredible looks. He'd been in good shape then, but now had the body definition to go with the fitness – wide shoulders, six-pack, narrow waist and long, strong legs. Ryan realised he was touching the broken heart that he wore round his neck and noticed that Stephen, deep in conversation with a female client, was unconsciously doing the same to the other half of the pendant.

"Ryan, phone! Someone called Jon Lyle." Karen stuck her head round the door. Stephen looked up and raised his eyebrows. Ryan shrugged and followed Karen back to the office.

~*~*~*

"We still on for the weekend?" Lyle, as always, dispensed with social graces.

"Yep."

"Good. Can you give me a lift if I get to Bristol?"

"Sure. Give me a buzz when you get to Temple Meads, and one of us'll come and pick you up. Are the others going together?"

"Far as I know. I've been in London all week."

"James OK?"

"He's fine."

"He's welcome to come with us …"

"I know, but he's up to his neck in crap at work. See you Thursday night."

~*~*~*

"I hear congratulations are in order," said Lyle, balling up his fish and chip paper and lobbing it at a bin. It dropped straight in and Kermit wolf-whistled.

"Yeah?" Ryan broke a piece of fish off and popped it into his mouth. Both the batter and the flesh seemed to melt on his tongue. Cornish fish was the best in the universe in his view.

"Yep. Ditz has got something to tell us." Lyle sat on the sea wall swinging his feet, a bundle of nervous energy. He'd bolted his takeaway down while the others were just starting theirs.

Ryan looked over at Ditzy and raised an eyebrow. "Go on, then …"

"Me and Claire are engaged." 

"Nice one, mate!"

The others chimed in their congratulations, and Ditzy grinned, surprisingly bashfully for him.

"So when's the big day?" asked Ryan.

"Start of next year, probably. We haven't decided for sure."

"About bloody time."

Ditzy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah …"

"Not pregnant, is she?" asked Lyle, leaning over to snitch one of Finn's chips.

"Fuck off!"

"That's a no, then … Surprised she's let you out for the weekend."

"She's gone to her sister's in York. And I'm getting bloody hitched, not being banged up in a high-security prison!"

"Some'd say there's no difference."

"Not that you'd know."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Cut it out, Jon," snapped Ryan. He'd started to wonder even before they'd left Bristol whether a weekend away in Cornwall with the lads was going to be a bad idea. Lyle had barely opened his mouth all the way down from Bristol, and even Finn's usually inexhaustible good humour seemed to be lacking. Ryan suspected there was going to be a bust-up sooner rather than later.

The weekend had been organised for months. They'd chosen the end of September on purpose, as the schools were back and there was a good chance of the weather being OK. 

The cottage belonged to Ryan's Gran and had been her childhood home. An elderly cousin had lived in it until recently and when she moved into a nursing home Gran had decreed that Ryan and Stephen were to have it on the condition that Tru, Ed and the kids could stay there whenever they wanted. Ryan knew that wouldn't be often, as he happened to know Tru thought the place was pokey and Ed, used to the life of an airline pilot, liked his creature comforts in smart hotels.

They'd gone down at the start of the summer to redecorate and to buy new furniture. Blade, who was a dab hand with plumbing and electrics, had promised to fit a shower. But the cottage was looking good now – all whitewashed walls and simple pine furniture. The place brought back happy childhood memories for Ryan, as they'd often spent the summer there on the private beach. The cottage was a mile or so out of the nearest village and perched on a clifftop. The nearest neighbour – a retired squadron leader – was several hundred metres away. And unless he had a super-duper powerful telescope that could see round corners, he wouldn't be able to see them sunbathing nude on the beach.

~*~*~*

"Christ, can we go home yet?" Stephen sat cross-legged on the bed and watched Ryan undress.

"Don't tempt me …"

"If Jon's found dead tomorrow, there'll be a list of suspects as long as the M5. What's his problem?"

"Fuck knows."

"I reckon we should go walking tomorrow, see if we can burn off some of his bad temper."

"Good plan." Ryan sat on the edge of the bed beside Stephen and they began to kiss. Stephen moaned with pleasure and began to stroke his dick, which was so hard he thought it might explode.

"Oi, that's for me!" Ryan slapped his hand away and transferred his attentions to Stephen's cock, licking a wide swathe from tip to balls.

"Are you …?" Stephen was desperate for a cock inside him and prayed that Ryan was hard. They were making love regularly now, but there were still times when Ryan couldn't get an erection.

Ryan grinned and did a hip shimmy.

"Gawd, don't do that, you'll have my eye out! Do something useful with it instead."

"Such as?" 

"Help me out here …" Stephen licked his fingers and eased one, then two, into his hole, twisting and stretching.

"You seem to be doing OK by yourself." Ryan continued to play with his cock and Stephen's mouth watered at the sight of it.

"Boring!" Stephen tried for a third finger, knowing he needed to get himself as ready as he could. They'd made love hundreds of times, but the stretch and burn as Ryan pushed into him always made him cry out. Except he'd have to be quiet tonight with the soldiers in adjoining rooms.

Ryan kissed him again and turned Stephen onto his side, hooking his right leg out of the way. Stephen closed his eyes as Ryan pushed into him in one, smooth, relentless movement.

"OK?"

Stephen nodded. He would be in a moment when he adjusted to the bulk inside him. And as Ryan began to move, he moaned at the sensations it set up, and pulled Ryan's face towards his so they could kiss some more. 

"Dunno … how … you'll … manage … to … keep … quiet … when … I …make … you … come." Ryan's words were punctuated by deep thrusts. They both knew how vocal Stephen could be when he was being fucked hard.

"'course I can …" Stephen squirmed and pushed down, impaling himself even more on the thick cock.

"Liar!" And Ryan clamped his hand over Stephen's mouth to muffle the yells as they both came, collapsing in a sweaty, laughing heap on the bed.

~*~*~*

Ryan sat up immediately, knowing there was someone outside. A gravel path ran the length of the small garden to the clifftop where there were steps down to the private beach.

"What is it?" Stephen's voice was rough with sleep.

"Someone outside."

Stephen was awake immediately and they tweaked the curtain back. A light glowed dimly from some metres away.

"Do burglars smoke?" whispered Stephen.

Ryan sighed. "It's fucking Lyle!" He opened the window and hooted like an owl. It had been their own signal at different times and in different trouble spots.

Lyle sauntered towards the window. "Evening. Or should that be morning?"

"It's 3am. What are you fucking about at, Jon?"

"Can't sleep. And wit and repartee's a bit short when Finn's snoring like a herd of pigs."

Ryan pulled the window open wide. "Come on, then …"

Lyle seemed to be about to make a facetious comment, then apparently thought better of it. He shinned up the drainpipe and they hauled him in through the window.

"Right, Jon, what the fuck's going on? You've been a bastard the last two days."

"I can see you were trained by the finest counsellors …"

Ryan just looked at him, and Lyle shrugged. "Yeah, sorry …"

"Well?"

"Personal shit."

"And?"

"I'm worried about James. And before you say anything, I know he's big enough and ugly enough to take care of himself …"

"You're entitled to worry about the person you love," said Ryan, wondering if he was risking a smack in the face.

"Yeah, I know." Lyle smiled briefly. "Bet you never thought you'd ever be having this sort of conversation with me."

Ryan shrugged and kept quiet.

"Mind you, I'd never have expected you to be shacked up in domestic bliss with a pretty boy."

Ryan felt Stephen's body tense beside him, but he seemed to realise that Lyle's comment had been made without malice, because he said nothing. In the half-light Ryan squeezed his hand and was relieved when Stephen returned the pressure.

"Have you talked to James about whatever's bothering you?"

"Kind of. But I don't want to add to the shit he's got at the moment."

"A job like his is always going to have shitloads of stress."

"I know, and he thrives on it. But …" Lyle perched on the windowsill. "What's the light in the distance?"

"Pendeen Lighthouse."

Lyle nodded. "He hasn't said much, but it sounds like they're trying to undermine him and get him off the anomalies project."

"The letter Claudia sent Abby said that," said Stephen quietly.

"What letter?" Lyle swung round to stare at him.

"Claudia sent Abby a letter from Australia. All I can remember is that she reckoned there was some funny business going on at the Home Office that might impact on the anomalies project, and that she thought someone was trying to undermine Lester."

Lyle cursed fluently for a minute or so. "Who else has Abby shown it to?"

"No idea. Ask her."

"Maybe." Lyle was quiet again, lost in thought.

Ryan said: "Jon, Lester must be used to this kind of crap. He's probably scheming and calling in every favour he has owing …"

Lyle shrugged. "Yeah. I dunno … It's just the rumours, and then this weird security firm shit."

"What about it?"

"I did some asking around. James doesn't know I did, by the way, so keep your mouth shut about it. They seem kosher and all the details about them check out. Except people clam up when you ask questions."

~*~*~*

"You reckon something is up?" Stephen kept his voice low as Ryan supervised breakfast and the preparation of packed lunches for the walk.

"I dunno. Maybe. Jon's got good instincts and contacts everywhere. So it sounds like there might be some mucky business going on."

"Definition of government."

"Yeah. And if anyone can deal with it, Lester can. Kermit, you cremating the bloody toast?"

~*~*~*

Stephen stretched out and wiggled his toes in the sand. The cottage was gorgeous, but on days like this he reckoned the private beach was the best of all. It was only 100 metres or so long, but the sand was soft and plentiful, and the sea an incredible shade of blue. He could see why all the surfers had descended on Cornwall, and he resolved to ask Ryan if he fancied giving it a go. He wished he hadn't sold his surfboard …

"Penny for 'em …" Ryan propped himself up on one arm.

"Just thinking how brilliant the beach is."

Ryan nodded and smiled. "When we were little, we used to spend virtually all day down here."

"Have you ever surfed?"

"A few times. Why? We couldn't do it off this beach."

"I know. But I really fancy trying it again. I used to go a lot at one point, until …"

"Until?"

"I sold my board."

"Why?"

"Needed the money."

Seemingly oblivious to the other lads stretched out around them, Ryan touched Stephen's fingers. "We could buy boards while we're down here and store them in the cottage."

"But …"

"We've got the money. And it'll be an excuse to come down more at weekends."

Stephen nodded and smiled, squeezing Ryan's hand briefly in return.

"Oi, get a room!" Ditzy, who seemed to have eyes in the back of his head, showered them with a handful of sand.

"Fuck off and get that barbecue going. I'm hungry," said Ryan.

"Wasn't me who pigged all the sarnies at lunchtime!"

They all turned to look at Blade, who smiled beatifically. "I'm a growing boy."

"Round the bloody waist, porky! Pass me the firelighter thingy, Finn. No, that's paraffin for the stove. You put that on the sodding barbecue and you'll have those poncy RAF wankers getting their choppers out to rescue you. Hoobloodyray, that's it. Right … See, always leave it to an expert. Kermit, pass me the burgers and the sausages. Jon, get your fat arse off the rolls. In fact, do something useful and start buttering them. And there'd better be ketchup, or someone'll have to go back for it …"

Ryan grinned at Stephen and they spread out the large groundsheet, anchoring the corners with pegs. "Ditzy's happy as a pig in shit once he's got a barbecue to play with. We'll just sit back and scoff the results."

An hour later, they'd polished off all the burgers and sausages, had eaten corn on the cob which Ditzy had produced with a flourish from a carrier bag, and were now on to rings of pineapple that tasted surprisingly good barbecued. Stephen licked his fingers and wiped them on a piece of kitchen towel. "Nice one, Ditz."

"Cheers, mate."

"Reckon we've got your career sorted out when you leave the army."

There was a silence and Stephen had a sudden, horrible thought that he'd put a size 12 in it. He was about to apologise when Ditzy said: "It'd be as good as anything …"

"Shut up, Ditz! This is bad fucking karma." Lyle sat up, surprisingly animated.

"Fucking live with it, Jon! You might have your head in the sand, but some of us know when it's time to get out."

"Ditzy, not today, mate …" Finn was looking agitated.

"Why not? It's about time we dealt with the fucking elephant in the corner of the room. It's time to get out and you know it. We've had too many close shaves. I've been doing this shit for ten years and I want to do something else while I'm in one piece. I should have gone when the boss did."

There was a long silence. All the lads were looking anywhere but at each other. Ryan was very still, and Stephen suspected he'd be keeping out of the discussion. 

"You sent those forms off, didn't you?" said Lyle quietly.

"Yeah. I've got an interview in a fortnight."

"Herefordshire?"

"Nope. Gloucestershire. Claire's applied for a new job in Cheltenham."

"Did she put you up to this?"

"No she fucking didn't!"

Lyle rolled his eyes, but said nothing. 

Ditzy said in a low, dangerous voice: "So what about you, Lieutenant? Are you going to carry on playing kamikaze soldier boys until they invalid you out or you get your stupid head shot off? Anything but confronting the fact you need to sort your private life out …"

"Back off. Now."

"No one cares, Jon. No one gives a flying fuck about you and Lester. Get out of the sodding army and build a proper relationship with the guy. Except you've no fucking idea how you'd do that, or what you'd do, have you?"

"That's where you're wrong, Mr Fucking Know It All. I've already put out feelers about setting up a bodyguarding business."

They all stared at him. Then Ditzy began to applaud. "Hoobloodyray to that! It'd suit you down to the ground, swanning around in smart suits like James Bond." He then swung round to stare at the others. "And you three needn't sit there looking like butter wouldn't melt in your mouths. What are you going to do?"

Kermit said awkwardly: "Me and Cara were talking about it the other day. I'm going to do a computer course at the college. She's going to give freelance photography a proper go. The local rag want her to do three days a week for them, and she's got loads of wedding bookings coming up. We can manage financially on that, just about, while I do the course."

"Good man. Finn?"

"Ditz, I dunno …"

"Finn!"

"I … I wondered about doing a fitness instructor's course. I mean, the boss and Stephen seem to be loving it …"

"There'd always be a job for you with us, mate," said Ryan quietly.

"Ta, boss." Finn managed a smile, then subsided into silence. Stephen had noticed before how uncomfortable he got when the conversation moved into anything resembling the personal.

"Blade?"

"I dunno, Ditz, honest. I'd always thought I'd be in it for the long haul until …" He shrugged.

"Stay in, then."

"I dunno now. It's not the same. I mean, I know things can never be the same, and we had a brilliant team, but there's too much shit coming down from the top and I'm sick of the fucking government taking us for granted and chucking us into these shitty wars. But I dunno what I'd do …" This counted as a long speech for Blade.

"Get a suit and ride shotgun for Lyle. You'd have to keep your mouth shut, though, or the sheep-shagger accent'll spoil the image!"

Blade gave him the finger, but Stephen had noticed Lyle regarding the young man thoughtfully. 

"Actually, stuff being a paramedic. I'll go for a job in careers guidance. Now, any beer left, Stephen, or are you going to hog the bloody lot?"

~*~*~*

"You reckon anything'll come of all of that?" asked Stephen, as they lay in bed that night, listening to the waves on the rocks and the intermittent blast of the lighthouse fog signal. They'd stayed on the beach 'til nearly 9pm when it had got suddenly cooler. And when Ryan locked up at about 1am, a thick fog had descended. Apparently it wasn't unusual in the area.

"Yeah, I think it might." Ryan kissed his shoulder and pulled him tight into his arms. "They've been pussy-footing round the issue for months."

"How long have they all got to go?"

"Varies from what I can remember. But they could all be out by the end of the year, next summer at the latest."

"Are they making the right decision?"

Ryan was quiet for a moment or two. "I'm not the person to ask. Based on my experience, I'd say yes. But some soldiers never settle when they get into the outside world. Ditzy'll be fine, and I suspect young Kermit will as well, as he's got his head screwed on the right way, and Cara to support him. Blade, I dunno. He should seriously consider staying in. Lyle could go either way. Finn's the one I'd be worried about. He's a good lad, but he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer, and he needs direction to keep him focussed. He'd be good as a fitness instructor, though. I hope you didn't mind …"

"Of course not. He'd be good to have on board."

"Thanks." Gentle lips traced their way down his chest. "Once they've all headed off in the morning, shall we go and have lunch somewhere and sort out those surfboards?"

"That'd be good. Is Jon coming back with us?"

"Nope. He'll go with the others. They've got to be back in Hereford by 7pm and it's a good five hours from here. The Major's got some briefing he wants everyone at."

"Tom … Do you … Do you miss the army?"

There was another silence, and Stephen wondered if he should have asked the question. But Ryan said: "I'd be lying if I said I didn't sometimes. But I think about it less and less now and I know I made the right decision. Maybe I could have gone back in a desk job, or something, but I love what we're doing and that we can be together every day. I wouldn't give that up for anything."

Stephen was glad of the darkness to hide the tears prickling at his eyes. But he wasn't surprised when Ryan leaned over and gently kissed his eyelids. And there was no mistaking the whisper which gave form to the words they rarely uttered to each other: "I love you."

Stephen swallowed hard, pillowing his head on Ryan's chest so he could feel his heartbeat. "Love you too, Tom. For ever."

~*~*~*

The third time he found himself detouring home past the estate agents and stopping to stare in the window, Ryan knew he was going to have to do something about it. So he went in and asked for the details about the flat. The tired-looking woman at the computer perked up slightly and asked if he'd like to arrange a viewing. He said he'd talk to his partner and let her know.

The house in Clifton was nice enough, and they'd got on fine with the neighbours, but for some reason it had never really felt like home. Maybe he just associated it with so many operations and so much physical pain. He wanted somewhere that would give them more space and privacy, and the flat looked perfect.

"Stephen, how would you feel about us moving house?"

Stephen frowned, long fingers wrapped around his mug of coffee. "I'm not sure. Why?"

"Because I've seen this place …" Ryan handed him the details from the estate agent and watched as Stephen's eyes widened as he read.

"Christ, Tom, it looks amazing, but the price …"

"We could afford it. Shall we go and see it?"

Stephen nodded. After a moment or two he said: "Don't you like it here?"

Ryan shrugged. "I don't hate it. But …" He hesitated, not sure how to articulate his feelings. Stephen was watching him unblinkingly and Ryan knew he'd wait him out if necessary. So he said: "It's a nice house, but I dunno, it's never really felt like home. And I kind of associate it with pain and hospitals …"

"Hell, Tom, why didn't you say something before?"

"You'd have thought I was mad."

"Of course I wouldn't. Look, phone the estate agents now and see when we can go round and view the flat."

~*~*~*

In the cold light of day Ryan cursed himself for not thinking things through. Stephen would feel duty-bound to move now that he knew Ryan was unsettled.

But the moment they walked into the huge open-plan living room, Ryan knew it was his dream home. The sun was streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows.

"Oh. Wow." Stephen stopped and stared around him.

"Yeah. Look at that view."

The flat had three double bedrooms, the living room, a big kitchen and two bathrooms. The block boasted secure parking, and a small gym and sauna in the basement. But the clincher was the stunning view over the river and the city from the balcony and from the private roof garden that was accessed via the balcony. In his mind's eye Ryan could see them sunbathing on the roof.

The flashy young estate agent was throwing them some weird stares, and no doubt wondering whether these two poofs really could afford the place. Stephen had raised his eyebrows at the £399,500 price tag, but had said nothing until they were walking back to the car.

"What d'you reckon?" asked Ryan. He really wanted that flat, more than anything he'd ever seen, but he wasn't going to push Stephen.

"Tom, it's the most incredible place I've ever seen, but the price …"

"We can afford it."

"I know, but …"

Ryan knew Stephen was having problems adjusting to their new-found wealth. So he said: "We'll get nearly £300,000 for the house, so that's not too much to find."

"I suppose not. And it really is a gorgeous flat."

"Shall we put an offer in?"

Stephen nodded. "Yeah, go on."

"Let's offer £375,000 and see what they say."

~*~*~*

The sellers nearly bit their hand off. According to the agent they were emigrating to Australia and wanted it sold quickly. And they were willing to leave a lot of stuff. Ryan had wondered if their own house would sell quickly, but that had gone within a week to a couple moving to Bristol to work at the university.

Stephen seemed faintly shell-shocked by the whole thing. At one point Ryan found him perched on the bedroom windowsill staring out over the rooftops.

"OK?" He hugged Stephen, kissing the top of his head.

"Yeah, fine …" But he seemed abstracted.

"What is it?"

"Just, I dunno … I can't quite believe we're about to move into that amazing flat. And I keep having to pinch myself that I've got you, a job I love, and all these fabulous things you've bought for me. All those years of struggling and loneliness were worth it for this. But I'm so afraid I'll wake up and find it’s all a dream and that I'm still alone."

Ryan looked at him and felt a huge rush of affection sweep through him. Stephen had the ability to make him want to cry, then smile, often within about a minute. "It's not a dream. And I promise you you'll never be alone again."

~*~*~*

Stephen opened the last box and began to unpack books onto the floor-to-ceiling shelves. "You realise your willy-waving thrillers are going to look very pathetic beside all my ever-so-intellectual environmental books?"

Ryan gave him the finger and pushed a button on the widescreen TV. Stereo surround sound boomed out around them.

“Bloody hell, you going to start showing James Bond films to the neighbourhood on that?”

“You won’t be whining when we get to watch the Six Nations rugby on widescreen.”

“I don’t go for men with funny-shaped balls.”

“Oh, yeah, I’d forgotten … You’re not a sports fan. You support Leeds Utd!”

Next thing, Ryan was flat on his back on the rug, Stephen sitting astride him. “I shall be expecting an apology in the post tomorrow before I leave for work.”

“The postman’s on strike.” Ryan wriggled and arched upwards, and Stephen could feel his own prick hardening.

He leaned forward, kissed Ryan on the lips, then sat back up so he could unzip his jeans.

“You little devil … No underpants.” Ryan’s voice was hoarse.

“Of course not. Didn’t want to get all hot while we were shifting boxes around.” 

Ryan’s hands went exploring under Stephen’s teeshirt, ranging over his stomach, rubbing his fingers through the hair and then tweaking his nipples. Stephen sighed and wriggled at the sensations this set up. But he pulled back when the wandering hand started playing with his balls.

“Hey, hands off!” Stephen leaned forward again, this time imprisoning Ryan’s wrists above his head. And the position meant his cock was unerringly aimed at Ryan’s mouth. “Yeah, fuck, that’s good …” It looked and felt fabulous as well, as Ryan swallowed him deep. Stephen closed his eyes and cried out as he pumped into the warm mouth.

He sat back on his heels and flicked the bulge in Ryan's jeans. "Want me to do something about that?"

Ryan nodded, unzipping his jeans. His cock stood straight up, and Stephen knew he was right on the brink. All it took was Stephen's tongue licking from balls to tip, then swirling round the head for Ryan to come.

"You weren't hanging about," observed Stephen.

"Serves you right for all that moaning a few minutes ago. Turned me on something chronic, that did."

"Funny how it's always my fault …!" 

“Yep. And I’m too bloody old for bonking on wooden floors,” grumbled Ryan, sitting up and stretching carefully.

“No sense of adventure, that’s you …”

They leaned back against the sofa, arms round each other, surveying the huge living room with its floor-to-ceiling windows. The polished floorboards were dominated by the huge rug they’d lugged back from Tashkent. And the flat was already starting to look like home, with their books, DVDs and photos adorning the shelves.

“You hungry?” asked Ryan, nibbling Stephen’s ear.

“Yes, but I’m not on the menu tonight.”

“Fancy an Indian?”

“Depends what his name is, and if he’s sexier than you …”

“Don’t give up the day job!” Ryan reached for the phone and ordered enough food to feed a rugby team. “Shall we eat on the balcony?”

Stephen nodded. The view over the river and the city was amazing – and it was even better from the roof garden. The people they’d bought from had left all their plants and pots up there. It was going to be a fabulous place to sunbathe.

He still couldn’t quite get his head round the fact they were suddenly in a £400,000 flat with three bedrooms, panoramic views and a living room which seemed to get the sun all day. And it was still walking distance from work.

The buzzer went, making him jump.

“That’ll be the food,” said Ryan. “There’s cash in my wallet.”

Stephen nodded and sped down the stairs to pay the bloke. They’d gathered that it wasn’t the sort of block where you let any Tom, Dick or Harry up in the lift. Their neighbours were apparently an MP, an actor, a writer and a businessman.

When he got back upstairs, juggling the bags of food, Ryan had sorted out the plates and cutlery. And he’d produced a bottle of champagne from somewhere.

The takeaway, from their favourite place on Whiteladies Road, was delicious, and they demolished a pile of samosas and bhajis, a curry apiece, two vegetable side dishes, rice and naan bread. Lunch – sandwiches eaten sitting on the floor – seemed a long time ago.

Once they’d finished, Ryan popped the cork on the champagne and poured them a glass each. “To us,” he said quietly.

Stephen nodded. “To us,” he echoed.”


End file.
